


Shadow

by sunnyamazing



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Seriously this is your angst warning, it's just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21756349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyamazing/pseuds/sunnyamazing
Summary: She’s a ghost now, a shadow, a woman that everyone except two believes is dead; and this is the way it is to stay.She cannot be who she thought she was going to be, who she had planned to be, who she wanted to be, so, she just has to be this instead.
Relationships: David Budd/Julia Montague
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> So, today I sat down to begin my LavenderBudd Fic Exchange piece ... 
> 
> But instead of typing that, this came out onto the screen instead.

Her feet which once upon a time strode the halls of Parliament confidently now step carefully along the well-worn footpath. Her head half bowed, she watches where she places each of her trainers. She cannot afford to fall and she can also now no longer wear the heels that once clicked underneath her. The trainers pad the footpath and they emanate no sound.

She winces slightly as she places too much weight on one side of her body, pain radiates up her right side. The burning feeling is not new, it has followed her for the last month and as much as medical professionals tell her she is getting better; sometimes she doesn’t believe them.

A young woman pushing a small child in a pram wanders past her, the woman smiles and she manages to make a small nod back. No recognition crosses the woman’s face and she releases a breath she didn’t realise she had been holding.

She’s a ghost now, a shadow, a woman that everyone except two believes is dead; and this is the way it is to stay.

She stops for just a moment, she presses the palm of her right hand over the top of her right thigh. The skin is warm underneath her hand, the presence of the colder weather has done nothing to soothe the mottled skin that now mars her right side.

She braces herself and then continues to move forward. She can rest later; it seems as if she is going to have the remainder of her life to rest. She cannot be who she thought she was going to be, who she had planned to be, who she wanted to be, so, she just has to be _this_ instead.

Her hands shake as she shoves them roughly into the pockets of her trench coat. The cold breeze whistles past her face and catches the back of her hair, disturbing the beret hat which sits atop her chestnut curls. She removes one hand and adjusts the hat back to the correct position, before she places her still trembling hand deep back inside her coat pocket.

She stands a little way down the street and she carefully observes as he climbs from the front seat of his car. She watches as the wind ruffles the curls atop of his head, he steps onto the pavement and then pauses. She wants to run to him, to ask him to wrap her in his arms and tell her that she is okay, to reassure her.

But he, like everyone else believes that she is dead.

He is only a few feet in front of her, he has his hands in his pockets too; and he has no idea that she is this close. She has been following him for the last twenty minutes by car and when both she and her driver had realised where he was headed, she had left the driver behind. She had climbed from the back of the car and then followed the rest of the way by foot; she had promised to call when she needed her ride back, she knows that she cannot walk for long periods of time. Not anymore.

She watches as he stares at the house in front of him, he seems wary of entering. She knows where they are; outside the safe house in which his family has been ensconced since the Heath Bank attack. She waits as he slowly begins to step forward, he still has no idea of her presence and she doesn’t know if she should be impressed with herself for her skills of stealth or concerned about the fact that the man who used to be in charge of her personal protection seems completely oblivious to the person studying him intently.

He shrugs his shoulders as he begins to stroll towards the front door; there is something different about him, a lightness about him that she’s never seen before. But maybe that is the problem, she didn’t know him, she doesn’t know him.

Maybe the man she’d known was just an illusion, someone who didn’t exist. Someone who wasn’t real, someone borne of necessity, someone who had been used to obtain information on her. Someone who’d kept secrets from her, his relationship with the man who had tried to shoot her to pieces as one prime example and maybe that and only that stops her from running to him now.

Her fingers tighten around the phone in her left pocket, they are expecting her call. She’d barely been able to convince them to let her out of their sight. But she’d said that this was the only way she would agree, she’d had to see him one last time. She’d had to see if any of it was real and then she would disappear.

Originally, they’d told her that her ‘death’ was to be temporary, nothing more than a few weeks apparently. They’d thought she might have been able to reappear, reappear with a plausible cover story and then launch herself at Number 10 with all the ferocity she could muster. But it seems that she has made too many enemies, Luke Aitkens aside. He may be gone, awaiting trial, same as Craddock, but according to her sources, she is still in danger and it is better she remains dead. They haven’t told her how long, she’d thought it only temporary, but the longer this continues, the longer they ignore her questions, the more she fears this is her new life.

She blinks, once and then twice. She sees him knock on the door and she sees the door open, the young blonde woman, his wife, she opens it. He steps inside quickly and he’s gone from her view.

She stands there motionless for a few seconds, is this it? Is this the end? She’s seen him, he’s alive, he looks well. He looks more than well if she is being honest, he’s okay, that’s all she’d told them she needed to know.

But it doesn’t seem enough.

She retreats to underneath a tree as another large gust of wind blows bone-chillingly down the street.

Wherever she goes next, she hopes it is warm.

She closes her eyes for just a moment and like always she is overwhelmed.

_She wonders if she has ever felt so much pain in her life, one minute she was making her speech, the words that could change her political life and the next she was laying on the stage, battered and a tiny bit broken._

_He is there before she can even fully comprehend what has happened to her, his hands are in her hair, his fingers delicately tracing injured skin. She feels the weight of his body, sheltering her as debris falls around the two of them. She feels his ear move close to her face, he is breathing shallowly, before he stills, trying to determine if she herself is breathing._

_She wants to say something, anything, but her voice will not speak, everything hurts too much, her body has gone into retreat, taking away her power to make words. She can just manage to make her eyelids flutter, but her eyes will not open. They burn, full of smoke and ash and other things she’d really not rather think about._

_She hears him yelling, pleading for help and she feels his hand embrace hers, interlocking their fingers tightly. She hears him begin to cough, but his hand does not let go of hers._

_There is more commotion, unrecognisable voices, they call her “Home Secretary,” “Ms Montague,” and “ma’am.” But still he is beside her. Her hand in his._

_She is lifted upwards and carried, she can hear sirens, feel needles piercing at her open skin. A mask is over her mouth and any words she feels she could make are swallowed by the sound of the oxygen trying to enter her lungs._

_But still he is there. His fingers squeeze hers. She can hear them trying to look over his injuries too, but he brushes them aside. He says he is fine and that they need to concentrate on her._

_Still they call her “Home Secretary,” and busy themselves around her, she can feel movement now, an ambulance she presumes._

_There’s a moment, where she feels a face lean down close to her ear, warm breath tickles at her earlobe and his voice whispers, “Julia, you’re going to be okay. I’m here.” His fingers squeeze hers again and she feels warmth surround her body, his voice fills all of her senses, but then she feels as if she is floating away._

_She feels as if his grip is loosening on her, the invisible tie that has bound them to one another is disappearing._

_She feels his hand once more, his fingers clench around hers, she can hear him speaking again, “Julia, Julia,” he pleads. She tries to hold on, to claw her way back, she tries to get back to his voice._

_But the pain engulfs her, it radiates from her legs and then up towards her chest and finally it consumes her entire body and she cannot fight it any longer._

_And then it fades, he fades, it all fades away._

_Fades away into black._

She opens her eyes again now, blinking as the street comes into focus again. The next she remembers; after all the blackness; is the crisp white hospital room and a man with sallow grey eyes staring at her.

There is no one else, there is no one holding her hand.

The man with the grey eyes, his arms were folded across his chest and when he realised she was awake he only gave her a curt smile.

“You’re dead.” He told her and when she had challenged him, her voice meek and mild and betraying her, he’d responded with, “well, for all intents and purposes you are dead.”

He hadn’t offered any explanation back then and she’d been too broken to fight for one. Maybe she should’ve, if she had then perhaps she’d not have ended up here, on the outside looking in, like a shadow.

The front door of the house opens again and two children sprint outside, racing for the car. She recognises them, Ella and Charlie, they are more grown up than what they were on his phone wallpaper. She had snuck a look one night, illuminating the screen in the dark Blackwood Hotel room. He had lost the phone in her bed, slipping from his pocket as she had distracted him in just her robe. He’d come towards her, eyes full of desire and captured her mouth in his and all other things had fallen by the wayside.

She’d found the phone hours later, when she’d risen from the bed and tiptoed to the bathroom. Her heel had stepped on it and she had carefully picked it up and stared at the young faces on the screen, before placing it on top of his discarded shirt and pants.

Charlie and Ella bustle for who is to sit where, their backpacks bounce on their shoulders. They knock each other from side to side as they are eventually joined by their parents. He smiles warmly at the pair of them and the backpacks are dropped into his hands.

The children climb into the back seat as arguments over who sits where are quickly squashed by their father and the children begin to laugh. Vicky, she begins to say goodbye to them all as he loads the boot of the car.

Vicky closes the door as he moves to stand opposite her. Then the two of them stand there just looking at each other.

She retreats backwards a little, feeling like she shouldn’t be watching this kind of moment. She is somewhere she does not belong.

He begins to speak and so does his wife, his body tilts towards hers. His shoulders look less tense, he looks less rigid, less on edge. He nods and shuffles on the spot, it seems awkward between them, but no-where near as awkward as she and Roger used to be.

He says something to Vicky, she can see the other woman thinking over what he has said, before Vicky nods and then she smiles and disappears inside, he looks around the street and she carefully ducks beneath her beret. But he doesn’t see her, she hears his voice; the first time since that awful day.

“Mummy’s gonna come too.” His voice sounds happy, sounds relieved, sounds lighter.

Their children cheer happily.

Their family put back together.

He radiates happiness as he walks to his side of the car, she can see the large smile upon his face. Vicky appears again, her bag over her shoulder, she is smiling and laughing too. She moves quickly towards the waiting vehicle; her eyes meeting her husbands over the roof of the car. They both climb inside, the laughter and the conversation continues as he switches on the ignition and the car drives away.

She watches until she can no longer see the vehicle, he’s gone.

A single tear rolls slowly down one of her cheeks, she reaches up quickly with one shaking hand to brush it away. Her other hand clasps her phone and slowly dials a number, the line is answered quickly, but no voice replies. She can hear the shallow breathing through the phone, she knows someone is listening.

“Shadow to control,” she whispers into the silence, “I’m done, it’s done.” She adds, her voice trembling. “I’m ready to disappear.”

She’s a ghost, she’s a shadow.

Julia Montague; she doesn’t exist anymore.

She’s a shadow.

She’s gone.


End file.
